I remember growing up my mom would occasionally burn or otherwise ruin something she was cooking, and I would think, “What’s so hard about following a recipe? Or getting the cookies out when the timer goes off?” It wasn’t until adulthood that I realized what a truly fantastic cook she is. And it wasn’t until I had children that I understood why she had occasionally become distracted enough to ruin the project….
I was in the mood to make cookies this afternoon, not because I had nothing else to do (see previous post), but more because I was out of good candy (might as well be honest about these things). I found a fun recipe here, which seemed somewhat more nutritious than the typical — not health food, as they’re full of sugar and fat, but with lots of protein and fiber from nuts and oats.
I mixed them up, and was only somewhat concerned when the dough didn’t hold together as well as typical cookie dough. After all, they contained a lot of chunky stuff — oats, peanuts, and chocolate chips. My scoop made even little balls, I baked the first batch for the prescribed length of time, and here is what I got:
They didn’t look exactly like the picture on the recipe, but still appeared appealing and chunky. Once cool, they tasted really good too, but there was one little problem. Completely crumbly, to the point that the only possible method of eating one involved putting an entire cookie in my mouth at once — trying, but I managed. Could I break them up and sprinkle them over ice cream?
The second pan of fifteen cookies was in the oven when it hit me. I had left out the eggs. I had made chunky oatmeal chocolate chip peanut butter shortbread! Only drier.
This was a big batch of dough, so I thought I’d better try to salvage it. I added two eggs and a teaspoon of vanilla (forgot that too), and after a lot of stirring, popped in another pan of fifteen cookies. Here is what I got:
Remember that math major of mine? Why did it not occur to me that I had already used nearly half the dough, and therefore addition of two eggs would make the dough far too wet? By the time these had cooled, Matt was home and he kindly scraped them off the pan. Could we crumble them over ice cream?
There was still enough dough left for a couple of dozen cookies, and I wisely (doesn’t this all make you think I’m so wise?) added some flour to it until it looked like a normal cookie dough texture. I put a pan full in the oven and left the kitchen (never leave the kitchen!) to help Sam with a homework assignment. I’m sure you can guess what happened next. I got them out before the smoke detector started to wail, but they were several shades past golden brown. Don’t worry, I still ate them.
I thought I’d redeem myself tonight after everyone had gone to bed. I was folding laundry and watching late-night talk shows, so I put the last little bit of dough in the oven. Then (critical error), I returned to the basement to wait (remember, never leave the kitchen!). Um, yeah. They were black.